It’s good to go home, and it’s good to be on the road; and sometimes each is a bit of the other.
I recently did a tarot reading for myself, to find out why I was feeling so angry so much. I used the Deviant Moon Tarot, which I really do like, with their mutant, Addams family sensibility. I got a card, IX of Wands, that showed a figure sitting at the bottom of some stairs that seemed to go down into a basement graveyard or mausoleum, downcast, wearing what looked like an old, beaked plague mask. Wands led up the stairs and one wand was lit like a torch. The card really spoke to me. It said that my anger came from grief, and that it was time to walk up the stairs.
It’s true I have felt a lot of grief, and come to store it away inside me, in the need to “carry on”. The loss of our family home in Nevada. The loss of our children from our lives. The loss of an amount of physical health. The loss of innocence that comes with dealing with crisis. The accumulation of middle age. Even the loss of local Pagan festivals we used to attend, where we would touch base physically with people who actually were friends.
Most of all though, it comes back to a rosy vision of when I first went out to Nevada to meet my husband, and we were handfasted to each other, and dreamed a future for ourselves and our family that was right in front of us, and had no idea of the level of prejudice and denial that we would encounter. We were so fearless and romantic, and with such hope. I remember that, and I don’t want that to die. It was so innocent and pure and luminous.
I cried a lot the day before yesterday, and I felt a lot lighter in the morning, and a lot more at peace, and more alive. It really started when I looked at my husband, and I still couldn’t believe that I have this man, that he wanted me and loved me as he did and does. I got the real thing, and he got me and we came together, and he wanted to marry me. He would move mountains, and he did.
I have to come back to my original vision and my original self, which I was able to find and become so briefly and freely, through my husband’s love. We lost so much apparently, with one blow after another, though we made many victories, and I walled up my grief. And you can’t do that.
I talked to Phil about this and I called upon my old patron goddess (sorry, but “matron” just does not do for all goddesses) Freya, who was so deeply involved in our finding each other, and bringing us together. Funnily the first time I went to my old rune reader Sigve, he turned over a rune for me and laughed and said it was associated with Freya, and that he “really wouldn’t have guessed” (referring I am quite sure to my gayness). She had appeared in a half waking state three mornings ago, but there was no warning of this catharsis. I used to feel like she walked through US immigration with me every time, on my journeys to see my husband and family over there, with my wedding ring safe in my wallet. Sigve used to say “she is like silk, soft but strong as steel”.
I may have lost a great deal, we may have lost a great deal, but some things cannot be lost; this blue skied, high desert oasis, this eye of a storm that left years ago, this magic circle trodden by two husbands round each other in an old western town, it has blessings that are here forever.
And I am proud of what we achieved, and what I have become. I am actually a different person to who I was even two years ago, but I am also the same person who flew to the US and was handfasted to my husband almost nine years ago. I have had to grow, but I have not lost the luminous pearl.
It is time to stop grieving, choose a colour that feels good, and move to a new world.